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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832567">Burn me (Don’t ever stop burning me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea'>Sipsthytea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Awesome Robin Buckley, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bottom Steve Harrington, Car Sex, Gen, Good Friend Robin Buckley, He is a dick, He sucks, Heavy Angst, Hurt Steve Harrington, I kinda vented, I love her, I love him, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley &amp; Steve Harrington Friendship, Steve Harrington Deserves Love, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington-centric, Top Billy Hargrove, Toxic Relationships, and she’s an amazing friend, but also not sorry, but it’s alright, im so sorry bby, my poor boy, shes the fucking best, so so much, they aren’t in anything good, uh sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:55:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tell me how good I make you feel.”</p><p> </p><p>‘You make me want to erupt,’ he doesn’t say, ‘You make me want to die in your arms.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he huffs, sliding down to his knees, hands sliding up Billy’s sides, fiddling with his belt buckle. </p><p> </p><p>“You make me feel…”</p><p> </p><p>‘Like I’m on fire...and I don’t ever want to stop…’ He doesn’t say.</p><p> </p><p>“You make me feel good, Billy,” He says.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley &amp; Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington &amp; Nancy Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Burn me (Don’t ever stop burning me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HELLO! This has themes that involve a toxic relationship so.. be warned! I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was a bad idea. A terrible idea, and yet, Steve still pulled his car into the dirt path of the query. Shifting his car into neutral, sinking down into his leather seat, lead thudding dully against the headrest. </p><p> </p><p>His body burned, vibrating beneath his clothes. It ached to be touched, to be ravaged, and it only seemed to want the seething burn of one person. </p><p> </p><p>“You there, Harrington?” </p><p> </p><p>Speak of the devil.</p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, Steve reached over, clicking open his door, “I’m here,” he mumbled, “I’m here.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy sauntered towards him, a hand resting on his belt loops, pulling his jeans dangerously low. Resting on his sharp hips, the slightest hint of that California tan made Steve’s mouth water. Jean jacket hanging off one shoulder, hooked around his middle and index finger, he wore sunglasses. The glint of the moon reflecting off the dark surface. </p><p> </p><p>In his ears, Steve could feel his heart pump, almost rising above the shifting water below them.</p><p> </p><p>Steve melted against his car, resting his back on the cool hood, hoping it would calm his red face. </p><p> </p><p>This was such a bad <em> fucking </em>idea. </p><p> </p><p>But his blood was pulsing. Heat began to build within his stomach, this was a bad fucking idea, but it was such a good fucking feeling. He lets Billy saunter towards him, lets the blonde rasp in his ear, “Are you ready for me, Pretty Boy?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve pulls him closer until he can feel the roaring heat of Billy filly against him. He can smell musk and sex, but he doesn’t have time to feel hurt, to feel betrayed. Because Billy is kissing him, he’s kissing him and Steve is in the clouds. </p><p> </p><p>Soaring miles and years above Hawkings, holding Billy’s hips in his hands, back pressed uncomfortably against the hood of his car, lips locked against burning fire. It hurts, but Steve can’t find it in him to care. </p><p> </p><p>He wants to be consumed by the fire that is Billy Hargrove. He wants to be burned, to scrape himself until there’s nothing left. To expose everything to this boy. Because that’s what they are, they’re boys. Billy’s not a man. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m always ready.”</p><p> </p><p>And neither is Steve.</p><p> </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>Steve wakes up in the backseat of his car, ass sore, marks on his chest, lips swollen, and cold. He’s always cold. The sun just barely crests the query, gliding along the water as it melts into deep purples and yellows. </p><p> </p><p>Groaning, he doesn’t bother to sit up, it won’t do him any good. Reaching beneath the seat, hand reaching around blindly until he stumbles upon a bottle of pills.</p><p> </p><p>Pain killers.</p><p> </p><p>He always needs a few after burning in the arms of Billy. </p><p> </p><p>His car is empty. It’s quiet. Billy’s gone, but what can Steve expect. He’s never stayed. Never. </p><p> </p><p>Curling closer in on himself, Steve curses. </p><p> </p><p>It’s so fucking cold. </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>Billy left his cigarettes, they’re menthols. Steve stores them away in his glove box.</p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>“You’re fucking dumb,” Robin retorts, tapping her socked feet against my windshield. She’s sprawled out in my shotgun seat, hands folded behind her head, eyes closed, “So dumb.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Steve dismisses, sighing out heavily. His neck still burns. Small scorchings and burns littering across him, Billy never quite does leave you, “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she turns to me, head lulling, “You’ve gotta stop this, dingus,” her voice suddenly goes quiet. Reaching across and resting a soft hand on Steve’s cheek, ringed fingers cold against his skin, “You’ve gotta stop.”</p><p> </p><p>Brushing her away, Steve steadies himself on his steering wheel, bracing his hands, “I know, I know.” </p><p> </p><p>Because he does, Steve knows. He knows. He just can’t stop. Can’t bring himself to ever say no to Billy whenever the blonde eyes him, or when a piece of crumpled paper is pressed against his palm. He can’t say no when Billy offers to burn him, to run his scorching hands across Steve’s body, letting his heat engulf Steve until he forgets about the freezing cold that surrounds him. </p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know, I’ll stop,” he looks over, locking eyes with his best friend, “I’ll stop.”</p><p>__________</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t stop. </p><p> </p><p>Steve doesn’t stop. Being pushed against a wall, the thud echoing against the empty space of his house. Billy’s hands claw at his shirt, burning up to his hair, pulling lightly. Teeth nipping at the sharp edge of Steve’s jaw, lapping at the exposed skin. The movements make Steve’s knee’s week, causing him to slip down. </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s hand gripping his jeans tight, shoving higher on the wall, “What’s wrong, Sweetheart? Riled up already?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve just whines into Billy’s mouth, blowing his words into the furnace of Billy’s body. His head is spinning, climbing high into the clouds. Body peaking, “Billy,” he groans. </p><p> </p><p>A hand grips at his neck, holding him in place, another burning hand travels into his pants, tracing the skin of his stomach. God, he’s going to explode. </p><p> </p><p>Teetering over the edge of release, Billy pulls back, a smirk on his face. That’ <em> motherfucker </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Quite literally. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me, Pretty Boy,” Billy smirks, blonde fringe dusting across his forehead, obscuring Steve’s view of his eyes. Wide and vast, bluer than the ocean, harder than stone, Billy’s eyes are beautiful. </p><p> </p><p>Billy is beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me how good I make you feel.”</p><p> </p><p>‘You make me want to erupt,’ he doesn’t say, ‘You make me want to die in your arms.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he huffs, sliding down to his knees, hands sliding up Billy’s sides, fiddling with his belt buckle. </p><p> </p><p>“You make me feel…”</p><p> </p><p>‘Like I’m on fire...and I don’t ever want to stop…’ He doesn’t say.</p><p> </p><p>“You make me feel good, Billy,” He says.</p><p> </p><p>Long story short, Steve doesn’t stop.</p><p>__________<br/> </p><p>This time, Billy leaves his lighter. It’s small and pale blue, the handle is worn, being turned and flicked one too many times. Steve stores it in his glove compartment, scooting the cigarettes over. </p><p> </p><p>Guess he’s building a collection. </p><p>_________</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that on your neck?” Nancy asks, a curious hand reaching to ghost along his collar. Her sharp eyebrows are raised nose scrunching. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s face goes red, he slaps a hand on his throat, cursing softly. Gess this shirt wasn’t high enough, “It’s - it’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that a hickey?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve looks at her, it’s not like they’re dating anymore...so, he shouldn’t feel guilty, right? </p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” he fidgets with his fingers, soothing over his shirt, “Uh...yeah. It’s a hickey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she says, stepping away from him, looking down, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>They’d patched up their relationship, realizing that they never really wanted to be together. Or at least, that’s what Steve told her, that’s what she told him. She sat across from him, hands tossing her fries around her plate. </p><p> </p><p>“I-I don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she says, her voice goes quiet, “Sorry…”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be,” He says quickly, sliding back in the booth, folding his arms over his chest, “It’s not much of a relationship...so, don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“I-” What does he mean? How does he explain the way he feels? How does he tell her that he’s in love, in love with burning at the hands of someone who could care less if he recovers from those burns?</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, that I love her...so,” he pauses, “So, I have sex with her, but she doesn’t feel that way about me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, how do you know?” She looks at him, hand clasped around her drink, raising the straw to her lips, “How do you know she doesn’t love you too?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve scoffs, thinking back to those cigarettes and that lighter. </p><p> </p><p>“Just trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>__________</p><p> </p><p>It begins to add up. </p><p> </p><p>Cigarettes. A lighter. His leather jacket. His cologne. A book. Underwear. A shirt. A comb. </p><p> </p><p>It begins to spill out of his glove compartment, so he moves it into his room, shoving the items into a box.</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll be back for them eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>But Billy keeps leaving things. </p><p> </p><p>Pants. Chains. Rings. Necklaces. Cigarettes. Another lighter. Whiskey. Shot glasses. Another book. Shirts. Papers. Feelings. Stories. Pens. Trinkets from California. </p><p> </p><p>He leaves these fading crumbs of ember. Glowing late into the night, still searing against Steve’s hand as he drops them into the box. Buzzing when Steve tries to drift off to sleep at night. </p><p> </p><p>His collection continues to keep growing. His box catches ablaze one night.</p><p> </p><p>On a night when Billy has him pressed against his bed. Hands held against the headboard, fingers twisting within him. Poking and prodding at his entrance, “You like that, Pretty boy?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve can only cry out, tossing his head back, straining as the pleasure rushes through him. God, he’s on fire. He’s burning up, the embers pressing so hard against his back. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me how I make you feel, Princess.”</p><p> </p><p>It builds because all Steve can see is the hard outline of Billy’s shoulders. The soft drag of his hair against Steve’s chest sends him bowing upward, trying to find those sea-blue eyes in the darkness. </p><p> </p><p>“Billy,” he gasps.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you...” He whispers breathlessly. </p><p> </p><p>The fire that boils his skin, leaving him with scorch marks, goes cold. </p><p> </p><p>“The <em> fuck </em>did you just say?”</p><p>__________</p><p> </p><p>This was a bad idea. A terrible idea, and yet, Steve still allowed himself to fry at the hands of Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t really matter anymore. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Robin hands him a lighter, gesturing towards his box. His collection. The embers have become lumps of coal, they’re heavy, they’re cold. Steve hates the cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is for his own good, he knows that. But he doesn’t want to do this, he can’t do this. He looks at her outstretched hand, scrunching his eyes together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Robin…” He starts, his skin has been scabbed, he hasn’t been burned in weeks. It feels like years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do it, Dingus,” her eyes are soft, she’s not judging. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he does. Flicking open then lighter, relishing in the snap and temporary warmth that radiates within his palm. He drops the lighter into the box. The embers don’t pop to life, they just hiss and smoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you ok?” she whispers, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Her hands are warm, but he doesn’t need warmth. He needs to burn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffs and she backs off. Taking tentative steps towards the small fire that began to dance in the query air, Steve sighed out. The fire moves, shifting, crackling. Steve swipes a hand through it, it hurts, but it’s cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s so cold. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed this angst story! Sorry if I made you sad! Also, sorry my writing got a bit sloppy at the end, I wanted it to reflect his mindset. </p><p>Don’t be shy, leave me a comment on your thoughts, corrections, or things you’d like to read in the future.<br/>[psa: comments keep me motivated and help me know that my work is being read and seen, so, please:) no pressure 🥺💕]</p><p>Thank you so much for reading!! Let me know if you guys want to see this continued or even to see Billy’s POV.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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